


The Foundling

by raiyana



Series: The Cryptid Chronicles [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adoption, Cryptids in Tolkien, Found Family, Gen, Nandorin Culture, Orphans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: When they came, she ran.When she left, he fought.And died.But their son lived.And this is his story.
Relationships: Glorfindel & Glorfindel's Parents (Tolkien), Glorfindel's Father/Glorfindel's Mother (Tolkien)
Series: The Cryptid Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982872
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagpieCrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieCrown/gifts).



They ran.

Well, _she_ ran, clutching their son, and he barged through the forest in a path designed to be followed, brute force toppling trees.

But she was light, her feet as fleet as Nessa’s, and though the babe was heavy in her arms, she was strong for him, them, _us_.

 _I grieve this, my darling,_ she whispered, hiding the thoughts among curls as golden as the lamps had once shone. _My son, my little golden light, know that you are most loved of all beings in this world._

He didn’t cry, looking up at her with a sleepy gaze – _you have your father’s eyes, my little love, and for that I am more sorry than you will ever know that we must leave you_ – and smiled.

Her tears fell like rain, silent droplets of agony, as the trees flew past her and the noise of her beloved’s diversion died behind her.

She felt no pursuit, the Stalkers were not on her trail – _yet_ – but that meant little.

 _I will not apologise for my love_ , she thought, fiercely, and in her arms the babe yawned, blue eyes falling shut in sleep, _if the world condemn us for it, I cannot regret loving that soul – I cannot regret creating you, child of mine._

 _I love you_.


	2. Prologue 2

She had run far, far from the forested mountain slopes where her child was born, far from harsh voices and roared threats; this land belonged to Yavanna’s touch, mighty trees soaring skyward, the stars seeming near enough to be caught in their branches.

There was peace, here, and none of her sisters held sway among these trees; they were not _her_ trees. She stopped, just for a moment, watching the stars reflect in a still pond, surrounding her shadow with their radiance.

_We shall never dance in starlight again, my love, nor let our voices sound in harmony._

The tears returned, though the fear did not yet follow, banished by a sudden song, far-off and glad, joyously revelling in the light above; glancing back, she did not see the singer, though she heard them come closer – a group, yes, a family, a _clan_ … and these were Children of Eru, not kindred of Ainur, she knew, hearing their strange tongue in the still night air.

_Lights above shine bright!_

_People in starlight walking!_

_Shine and laugh, People of Joyful Song and Stars together!_

She smiled through tears, looking down at her sleeping son. Perhaps…

A thought made her form shimmer, a reflection in a still pond disturbed by the ripples of a thrown pebble, and then she appeared kindred of the trees around her, her branches cradling her son in his furs.


	3. Chapter 1

She wrapped a hand around one slender trunk in passing, feeling the rough-smooth bark beneath her palm like a fleeting caress, a memory of time made solid. The trees grew tall here, their branches beginning far above ground, needles mixing with broad leaves beneath her leather-wrapped feet. And still there were softer places in these woods, still ponds ringed with willows where they could harvest bark that helped soothe painful wounds; they would camp by one such pond come the sleeping time, and awaken fresh for the harvest when Varda's face smiled upon the Eldar once more.

“Peace can be found here,” Tallagor smiled, nodding at young Tolthor dancing alongside Amarthriel whose sweet voice rose among the leaves in accompaniment to his long flute. “And young love, perhaps.”

“You are the most blind ellon of my kin if you had not seen that love bud turnings ago,” Ruinelloth laughed, pushing her best friend off the path as she ran ahead of the starry-eyed couple. She almost envied Amarthriel, wondering what loving in such a way truly felt like. Ruinelloth had loved in her life, family and friends, but she had never felt that throbbing the bards described whenever she asked them to explain what love between couples _felt_ like. Mostly, she was content with her heart’s workings, except for the natural draw of curiosity that she had inherited from her father; Ruinelloth was the only child of reckless Alphon and calm Idhrenes, chieftain of their small tribe beholden to Denethor-King.

“I am accustomed to looking outwards!” Tallagor exclaimed, catching up with her easily. “Duty-bound, in truth.”

“And inwardly _blind_ ,” she teased, glancing at him for a moment, “but we – _oh!_ ”

Coming to a sudden halt, she stared, her outstretched arm stopping Tallagor beside her.

“What?” he asked peering into the darkness before them. “Did you see something?”

“I thought…” Ruinelloth hesitated, straining to sense any hint of a presence beneath the trees. She found none. “I thought there was an elleth in the shadows over there.”

“There are only trees.” Tallagor frowned at the surrounding trunks, grown wide with age and the water they could smell not too far ahead. “Perhaps you saw a willow-maid dancing,” he chuckled.

“Perhaps, but…”

“But you’d not make your father’s mistake, I know,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “My ever-cautious friend.”

Ruinelloth looked caught between a smile and a scowl, making him laugh again.

“I appreciate this in you,” Tallagor reassured her, giving her hand another squeeze. “And we shall proceed with due caution towards the Pond-of-Willows.”

“You’re a pain,” Ruinelloth muttered, moving ahead again, though she let her hand linger in his for a moment, appreciating the small comfort. The loss of Alphon hurt, still, wrapped up in her own lost innocence; his death had shattered the belief of the child she had been that the world was a wondrous and welcoming place created for the Eldar to explore and sing to.

“But you’d miss me if you let me be torn apart by servants of the Shadow!” Tallagor exclaimed, affecting a wounded tone. “Admit it, Rína, you’d miss me if I was gone from your side.”

Ruinelloth shook her head. Only Tallagor dared joke with her about Alphon’s death – he’d been there for too many of her tears since it happened – but Ruinelloth appreciated that more than she knew how to tell him. Tallagor’s banter often made her feel like Alphon wasn’t quite gone; the wound had barely scabbed over for Idhrenes, and she rarely mentioned him to her mother anymore, hating the pain in her eyes that she never could hide when her mind was filled with her lost lifemate.

“Yes,” Ruinelloth growled playfully, “though Nessa only knows why.” She tried, but she couldn’t hide her smile, grabbing his free hand to tug him along. “Now let’s go see if you’ll finally get to meet one of Vána’s willow-maidens,” she teased.

“Well, it _is_ in among the willows,” Tallagor said, a little while later, staring at the tree in front of them.

“But not a maiden by far,” Ruinelloth agreed, tilting her head for a better look and wishing they had a torch. The branches swayed gently in the light breeze. “Do you think…”

The babe blinked at them, small mouth opening in a yawn that revealed two tiny teeth.

“Not newly born, but not yet weaned, I think,” Tallagor mused, leaning closer. “Smells like el- _eurgh!_ ”

Then the smell hit them both.

“That is _your_ child now, Rína,” Tallagor muttered, holding his nose. Then he laughed. “You did say you wished to be a mother, here’s your chance!”

“It’s not funny, Tal,” Ruinelloth sighed, wrinkling her nose as she looked around. “Where are the parents?” _Who would abandon you like this, little one?_ “What mother could bear…”

_They will keep you safe, beloved child of mine, safer than I could; the Mighty One does not hunger for them as he does my kind… and yours._

Trees could not weep, and still this one did, the child in her branches held out towards the little Children exclaiming at his presence.

_Take him. Protect him. Love him._

_My last gift to you, my son,_ she whispered, weaving subtle strands of her power around him, shielding the parts of him that the Children would not understand from sight, making him appear as one of their own.

_Farewell, my little Tulukhastāz. Remember our love for you._

_Remember us in your dreams._

The small child wailed in distress.

“Hush, little one,” Ruinelloth murmured, almost surprised to find the squirming bundle of fur in her arms. She almost wished she had a third hand to hold her nose; the smell really was _vile_. “We’ll find your mother, hush now.” _If we can…_ Cutting off the thought of what might have become of the child’s parents, she rocked him gently, humming snatches of cradle songs until he quieted, looking up at her with a disturbingly keen gaze for one so small.

“The marks are faint,” Tallagor offered, looking up from where he knelt on the leaf-mulch. “I think whoever put him in the willow’s cradling branches was running…”

“What terrible thing could drive a mother to such an act…” Ruinelloth shivered, holding the squirming child a little closer as she stared into the shifting shadows around them, listening for any sounds of struggle.

The willows were calm, whispering among each other as was their wont, their soft susurration accompanied by Amarthriel’s favourite song lifting joyously towards the stars.

“Anyone might have found him…” she murmured, “…or no one.”

“Perhaps she heard our songs?” Tallagor wondered, tracing one of the indents with a finger. “She was small, I think – perhaps she knew she could not protect him, but that whatever chased her would follow _her_ tracks and miss her child’s.”

“He smells like an elf,” Ruinelloth said, leaning down to smell the sweeter scent beneath the stench of the little one’s soiled wrappings, “but I did not think any other tribes were wandering among the willows at this time…”

“Not to my knowledge,” Tallagor sighed.

_Where did you come from, little one?_

“Can you follow the tracks?” Ruinelloth asked. “Perhaps… perhaps there would be…” She did not wish to say it, clutching the pendant that never left her neck. A small swan carved in beechwood surrounded by carefully crafted vines. Her thumb traced the familiar grooves of an outstretched wing; a promise of protection once, and now a bitter-sweet reminder of times gone by.

Tallagor nodded silently, passing the willow that had protected its charge.

“The ground is fully covered in leaves here,” he called. “No tracks I can see.” Circling back around, he stared intently at the ground, an unhappy frown on his face.

“I feel no danger,” Ruinelloth admitted, though she couldn’t stop herself from feeling uneasy at the thought of an unseen enemy lying in wait.

The servants of the Shadow counted more than yrch among their number, she knew that well.

Against some, meeting a band of yrch would be preferable.

“Nor I,” Tallagor agreed, though he kept staring into the darkness as though he should be able to discern tracks of the child’s errant parent by will alone.

“What have you found, daughter-mine?” Idhrenes said, her feet so silent neither of the two had heard her approach.

“A babe, mother,” Ruinelloth said, looking down at the small bundle. Calm eyes looked back at her, one hand moving sleepily beneath the furs. “Though we see no signs of its kin.”

“The threes are whispering,” Idhrenes remarked, leaning her head back to stare up at the gently waving branches. “Perhaps they may tell you the truth.”

A small breeze moved the long branches that had held the babe, leaves whispering against each other almost as though they wished to speak to her.

 _I give this child to you, Red One,_ something said, words appearing in her mind as though put there by another.

Ruinelloth stiffened.

The child in her arms squealed at the sudden pressure.

_Let him be yours now, a gift from the Queen of Life to one who has never asked it of her, yet desired it in her deepest soul._

“…my child?” Ruinelloth whispered into the suddenly still air. The trees did not reply. Even the child had fallen silent in her arms. Terrifying hope filled her.

_What if…_

“No, we should… we should look for his mother,” she said. Trying to keep her voice steady as her heart tore itself apart between what she wished could be and what _was_. “He must have kindred. Perhaps in Menegroth – we might spread word…”

_Let him be your son. Elf-maid with heart of fire, protect our child from Darkness._

Looking down at the small bundle, Ruinelloth carefully moved the furs fully away from the babe’s face.

_My son? Should you be my son, little one? Can I be your mother?_

Idhrenes lifted her torch a little higher.

The babe smiled at the light, burbling a sweet sound.

_Cherish him as your son with our blessings._

The trees did not speak, a hush falling over the Place-of-Willows as though all manner of creatures were holding their breaths.

“Hello…” Ruinelloth murmured, looking into eyes even bluer that her own, stroking a grain-gold curl off the small forehead. “Welcome to our family, Tathren, son of Ruinelloth. _My son._ ”

“How very marvellous that such a great gift be bestowed upon you, my child,” Idhrenes murmured, placing her hand on Ruinelloth’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “I am glad of it. I wish… I wish only that I could share my joy with your father.”

“Me, too, mother,” Ruinelloth admitted hoarsely, stroking the down-soft cheek of her child with a trembling finger. “Me, too.”

“I can’t believe it!” Tallagor exclaimed. “I’m an uncle!”

“You’re a first-rate fool,” Ruinelloth laughed through tears. “Why are we friends again?”

“Hey, that’s Uncle Fool to you!” Tallagor teased. “And your son still needs a fresh clout, dearest friend of mine.”

“I…” Ruinelloth reached out to squeeze her mother’s hand once. “I guess I had better find him something fresh to soil, then.”

“You’ll do well, daughter,” Idhrenes promised, returning the gentle squeeze. “And Tathren will be much loved by our kin.”


End file.
